Winter of the Sarafan
by Lozlan
Summary: A brutal winter has descended upon Nosgoth, such as none, human or vampire, have ever experienced. Kain sends forth his hcief lieutenant, Raziel, to invesitgate; what he discovers may herald the return of an ancient enemy.


Raziel brushed an idle talon through his hair as the massive doors to the throne room groaned open on lamenting hinges. The slaves had once oiled them often, human chattel kept by Kain and his children to slake their darkest cravings. However, a virulent plague had coursed through the staff of late, enflaming their flesh with running welts and sealing their eyes shut with gummy effluence. Groaning, insides purified by the progress of the disease, the humans perished, slowly and agonizingly. Unfortunately, this left none to tend to the doors.  
  
Kain gazed at Raziel impassively as his chief lieutenant entered the throne room, hands clutching the hilt of his legendary weapon, the Soul Reaver. The sword's unorthodox blade, warped and twisted like a jagged shaft of lightning, lay propped against his knees, glinting in the morose half-light filtering through the airy chamber. No sunlight this, but high torches set in brazen sconces, flames monotonously dancing, smokeless and bereft of fuel. Sunlight was an unwelcome guest in the Court of Kain.   
  
Raziel strode into the chamber quickly, feet padding across the barren flagstones. He held his head bowed in a display of deference, gaze firmly affixed to a point some paces ahead of him. Kain was his lord, his mentor, his creator. Kain was the father of their race, deified by the Clans, ruler of Nosgoth. Kain was master.   
  
Halting before the throne Raziel fell to one knee. The dim cold of the stones radiated into his flesh, coursing through his pallid skin like a bank of fog over pale moorlands. He suppressed an involuntary shiver.  
  
He remained poised thus for several minutes, waiting for his lord to speak. Kain continued to regard him officiously from his throne, set at the base of the crumbled Pillars of Nosgoth. The cold of the flagstones stole into Raziel's breast, abducting what scant warmth could be found in that undead carapace of sinew and bone. He could discern his breath, scant though it was, escaping his nostrils in minute pillars of mist. Winter had fallen hard this year, far harder than expected.   
  
Finally Kain rose from his throne, setting the Soul Reaver aside. "Arise, Raziel," he said, voice like the shifting of silver-coated gravel. "Arise and tell me of your latest expedition."  
  
Raziel complied, grateful to ease away from the hateful stones. "I have traveled far," he said, arching his back in a stunning display of informality. "The winter has deepened in all the surrounding lands. Streams are iced over, brooks are stilled. I even spotted the carcass of a bear, frozen in mid-stride. This is a most peculiar cold."  
  
Kain nodded, folding his arms behind his back. "Indeed," he said, pacing away from the throne, head bowed in contemplation. "You may be wondering why I dispatched my most trusted subject on such a...trivial mission."  
  
Raziel inclined his head. "On the contrary, I consider it an honour. Doubtless you think as I do: this is no natural winter. Some magic, some sorcery is at work in the land."  
  
Kain grinned over his shoulder, the rictus leer revealing a pair of formidable fangs. "You are astute, my lieutenant. I sent you forth with this goal in mind: to ascertain the conditions of the surrounding lands. However, I hoped that you would also make some private observations. Observations such as you are renowned for."  
  
Raziel nodded, smoothing the clan cloak he wore. "I did take note of several peculiarities, my lord. Shall I relate them to you?"  
  
"You shall."  
  
"What animals survive in this unnatural chill are frightened, skittish. Even I was hard pressed to stalk a decent meal. Also the humans speak in hushed voices, and entrench their villages as if preparing for war. They also must fear the intrusion of foreign magic."  
  
Kain nodded again, striding back towards his throne. "...and what does your special sense reveal to you?" he asked, extending a fond talon towards the hilt of the Soul Reaver.  
  
"I hear...words in the wind, arcane phrases," Raziel conferred, eyes following his sire's loving touch. "Words uttered in no dialect I am familiar with."  
  
Kain paused in his caresses, then abruptly seized the hilt of his weapon. "Arcane phrases," he growled, hoisting the blade on high. "I knew it to be so. This winter is no fiendish device of nature, but a human-wrought concoction! Give me a sample of these words."  
  
"Saz naz arazul, hazsul nurukul," Raziel recited, hearing even now the faint resonance of the words in the gusting wind without. "And many phrases beside. They sting on my tongue."  
  
Kain lowered the Soul Reaver gradually, eyes fixated on the swerving blade. "You may not recognize these letters," he said, voice low and laden with malice, "but I do."  
  
"My lord?" Raziel inquired.  
  
"The words are of a dialect that I have not heard spoken in many a century," Kain supplied, resuming his pacing. "You are, of course, familiar with the tale of the Sarafan?"  
  
"I am," Raziel returned, eyes narrowing. "You forget, my lord, that it is I who educate the fledglings of my house."  
  
Kain halted his pacing, shooting his lieutenant a venomous glance. "Caution, Raziel. You forget your place, as you so often do."  
  
Raziel bowed hurriedly, astonished that such words had dared struggle past his lips. "My...apologies, lord Kain. I merely meant -"  
  
"What you meant is of no concern," Kain snapped. He covered the ground between him and Raziel in several gaping strides, the Soul Reaver brandished in one hand. "You will mind your speech, just as your brothers do. They never show their lord such disrespect."  
  
Raziel fell to his knees again, cursing his own outspoken arrogance. "Again, my apologies," he muttered, head bowed.   
  
Kain hovered over him for several seconds, the tip of the Soul Reaver quivering. "You are fortunate," he said at last, "that your service to me has proven so outstanding, Raziel. Your merits have saved your life this day."  
  
Raziel bowed still lower.   
  
Without another word Kain turned away, cloak billowing dismissively. "Summon your brothers," he ordered, returning to his throne and seating himself. "There is much to be discussed."  
  
Raziel raised himself from the freezing floor, face grim. "Summon my brothers? Is the threat so dire?"  
  
"I do not know," Kain admitted, chin perched on the hilt of the Reaver. "And that is what concerns me. Go now, and gather them."  
  
Raziel turned towards the door, then hesitated. "Lord Kain -" he began.  
  
"You have more to say, Raziel?"  
  
"You mentioned the Sarafan. Is that language...?"  
  
"The tongue of the warrior-priests? Yes," Kain said gravely, easing his eyes shut. "As I said, it has been many a century since I have heard it uttered save in memory, yet I recognize it without aid. Now go, summon your brothers. I require to council of my children before I decide on a course of action."  
  
Raziel hesitated a moment more, then turned an exited the throne room, leaving Kain to the brooding shadows of his black thought. 


End file.
